Ghosts
by Kate Sherrard
Summary: Connie and Ric
1. Chapter 1

Late in the evening, alone in her office, she fingered the vials of morphine that she had taken from the drug trolley wondering how something that looked so innocuous could be so destructive. It looked a lot like water and yet it could kill people and people would kill to obtain some. It saved some people from excruciating pain but caused such pain to be inflicted on others. Slowly she took the hypodermic syringe and drew a large measure into it before pressing the needle to her arm, barely wincing as it penetrated her skin and plunged deep into her vein. She didn't even flinch as she pushed down the plunger and flooded her body with a lethal dose. This drug had taken everything from her and now it was going to take her as well.

Around her was a low whistling noise as the wind blew through the trees of the cemetery but she didn't hear it. She didn't feel the biting chill in the hair, despite the fact that she had left her coat in the car and was wearing nothing more than a simple sleeveless black dress. By rights she should have been freezing but she didn't so much as shudder against the weather. She simply didn't notice. Around her stood her friends and colleagues in various manifestations of shock and distress. Diane was sobbing quietly into her husbands chest, tragedy having temporarily bought them back together, although everyone including the couple themselves knew that it wouldn't last. Jess appeared to be in an advanced state of shock, clutching her baby son's carry chair so tightly that her knuckles had turned white as she struggled to stay in control, a battle that she was fast losing. Behind her, a constant reassuring presence, stood Lola, her feelings betrayed only in the single tear that she had shed during the ceremony. Looking around her she saw that everyone had someone there to support them – Diane had Owen, Jess had Lola, Tricia, Mark and Chrissie had each other. Only she was there alone. No one spoke to her or paid her much attention at all. Today was not a day for apportioning blame although she knew that everyone present held her largely responsible for the tragedy. Blame was the only acknowledgement that she was likely to receive now. Michael hadn't accompanied her to the funeral, reasoning that his presence was better served battling to save her career following the death. He was incapable of understanding that she didn't care now if her career went down the drain. That his support would be worth more to her than any amount of bribery and corruption to prevent her being struck off. Driving to the cemetery, completely alone in her car, she feared that she would be made unwelcome but she wasn't, although you could have cut the atmosphere in the church with a blunt scalpel. Even now as they lowered his body into the ground to the soundtrack of his friend's and family's distress she was receiving reproachful glances and it made her feel physically sick as she did every time she thought about what had happened. About how she could have prevented it if only she had been paying attention rather embroiled in some stupid, unimportant political battle with the hospital trust. All this was happening because she had been too busy fighting to do her job properly.

Her reverie was broken by the gentle meandering of people away from the graveside. Clearly the committal had passed without her even noticing it and now only she and Jess stood by the grave, staring into the hole in the ground, neither of them acknowledging the other's presence until they were standing side by side gazing down at the wooden box in the ground beneath them.

'I'm surprised you came' Jess stated hollowly as she glanced down at her hands, as if she had only just noticed that Lola had discretely taken the baby from her and made her way back to the car, sensing that her step daughter needed some time alone 'it's not like you and he ever got on'

'That's not true and not the point' Connie spoke in a gentle whisper, fearing that if she raised her voice any louder then she would crumble, something which she had been close to since his death 'we may have had our professional differences but I held him in great respect' she added, electing not to share with Jess precisely how close they had been. Jess didn't need to know how much her boss was going to miss the man they had just lowered into the ground. It was not an idea that she would find pleasing or palatable.

'If you gave a damn perhaps we wouldn't be standing here today' Jess added but there was no conviction in her voice. Despite her deep desire for someone to hold responsible, there was a part of her that couldn't apportion the blame entirely to her boss as her friends and colleagues appeared to. Surely the person most to blame was the man who had inflicted the damage in a desperate bid to get what he wanted, not the doctor who had failed to see the signs of a man suffering from severe withdrawal. Whose only crime was in failing to anticipate the desperate lengths this individual would go to simply to obtain a small vial of the elusive clear liquid that the distributed on a daily basis. Connie wasn't the only person to have missed his true ailment – the doctors in the ED and several nurses had also misdiagnosed him as suffering from a heart condition. It had been a hectic day and mistakes had been made. A terrible chain of mistakes that had led to a tragedy.

'I'm sorry' tears sprung to Connie's eyes but didn't spill over. She wouldn't lose her composure in front of anyone, especially not in front of Jess. She hadn't earned the right to grieve for him when she could have stopped him being hurt in the first place. On the other hand, by rights Jess could be breaking down completely and no one would think less of her, but she didn't. Instead she was displaying strength that Connie hadn't credited her with and she had to admit that she admired the younger woman for it. She's always thought that Jess was a good nurse who would always be hampered by her emotions but perhaps she was wrong.

'So am I' Jess whispered as she wrapped her arms around herself, clearly aware of the chill which Connie had not noticed 'I'll see you at work I suppose' she added in a dull monotone, both of them thinking how strange it seemed to be speaking of something as normal as work when it felt like nothing would ever be normal again.

'Work' Connie repeated quietly, unsure whether she would ever be at work again. This error could very easily be at the expense of her career and yet she found that she didn't care. Couldn't care when he was lying in the ground. When he died everything that had been important to her fell away and she was left realising what really mattered in life. Too bloody late, she thought to herself bitterly as she watched Jess retreating into the distance, her shoulders hunched with grief. More grief than anyone so young should ever have to deal with but life was unfair like that.

The unfairness of life was something that Connie had long ago come to terms with – such acceptance was an inevitable part of doing a job in which every day you watched people slip away from terrible diseases. People who died before they had even had a chance to live. Even so, at this moment it hit her afresh just how unjust the world was. In the ground lay a wonderful man, adored by his family and friends, who's biggest failing in life had been a vice with which he did more damage to himself than anyone else. Who devoted his life to saving other people from pain and suffering. Conversely, in a comfortable cell in a remand centre sat his killer, awaiting trial with probably more luxuries than he had possessed before he killed. One day, probably far sooner than he deserved, this man would see the light of day again. He would once again walk amongst innocent people and live a normal life, a privilege that had been taken from the man in the ground in the fruitless pursuit of a drug. That, Connie decided as she stood at the graveside, was the most unfair thing of all.


	2. Chapter 2

Following the funeral she didn't return to the large house which she shared with Michael. She knew that he would not be home and couldn't face hours of her own company rattling around the house, torturing herself about what she had done and what she had failed to do. Instead she drove to her flat, the place where she had always felt most at home. The place that she hadn't been able to return to in the ten days since his death. It held too many memories now. Despite this she steeled herself and stepped from the car, slipping the key into the lock and turning it easily, waiting with tense anticipation as the door swung open to reveal the hall of the flat she knew so well. A sense of anticlimax flooded her veins as she took in her surroundings. Light glinted off every surface of the kitchen, it's harsh brightness burning into her mind and causing her to wince involuntarily. On the side sat the note that he had written on the very last time he had left the flat before her to head into work. Through the open bathroom door she saw two toothbrushes – one blue, one red – resting together in the toothbrush holder, just as they had been the last time that the flat was occupied. Everything was exactly as it had been left on that terrible morning. Only time's natural progression had changed things – the once unoccupied doormat was now littered with circulars, loan offers and adverts for take away pizza. The flowers that he had bought her on their last night together lay dying in a vase on the hall table, their petals, once a beautiful deep pink shade, were now brown and withered. It was as if she had never been away. As if the flat was unaware that anything had changed; that one of it's usual inhabitants would never be returning. Irrational as she knew it was she couldn't help but feel enraged by this. How dare everything seem so normal when nothing could ever be normal again? Her normality had perished with him and unless they perfected a technique of resurrection, would stay gone.

Searching for an outlet of her temper she moved through the flat like a whirlwind, disrupting everything in her midst. She disposed of the leaflets on the doormat and the food in the fridge that had long since gone off and the flowers. Even the second toothbrush went in the rubbish bag and she felt only a small pang of regret at this. It was stupid to get emotionally attached to a toothbrush and she knew that if he could see her now, he would be laughing at her. Finally she came to the one thing she had been putting off dealing with. Logically she knew she couldn't leave his note forever but she couldn't bring herself to dispose of it. This simple message was possibly the last thing he ever wrote down and as such, held priceless value for her. Despite it's less than earth shattering contents that detailed simply the need for another pint of milk and the fact that he would catch up with her at work, she held it as though it was the most important document in history. To her at that moment it was.

For a long time she stood in the kitchen, the bin bag held loosely in her grasp, staring unseeing at the note that lay in her hand. Almost unconsciously she realised that she was memorising his distinctive scrawl. Doctors handwriting he used to call it and it was a classic example; on more than one occasion she would find several nurses clustered around a set of notes in a futile attempt at deciphering his illegible scrawl. She took in the long, thin letters that blurred into one unfathomable line and the occasional loops which were his concession towards making each letter in any way different to the one before and after it. She memorised the small tails that adorned the end of each word, regardless of what the final letter was, the small wavy line was never absent. Finally she moved to the large glass cabinet that cast it's shadow over the lounge of the flat and slipped the paper into the small drawer in the middle of the row of drawers. When she bought this item of furniture she had resolved to keep that drawer to hold precious things that she didn't want to be parted from. So far the extent of her collection was her passport and this note.

Standing in the middle of her spotless flat she glanced at her watch and was somewhat disappointed to note that she had managed to waste only half an hour of the interminable stretch of loneliness that lay before her. She had nothing – a dead lover and a job for which both herself and the trust held serious doubts about her ability, always assuming she was allowed to practice again. She only had her marriage because neither of them had ever managed to summon up the energy or inclination to file for divorce. Despite Michael's valiant attempts to salvage her job she couldn't bring herself to feel thankful; he might be able to save her job but she was no longer interested in the career which had once been so precious to her. Without him her job was nothing. Without him, she was nothing. At the thought of this she felt very lethargic. Not tired – she hadn't been able to sleep properly since his death – but heavy limbed and listless. Suddenly she was unable to contemplate doing anything else but lying down so she made her way to the bed and lay across it, experimenting with the unusual amount of space that she now had. There was no longer anyone to complain if her limb strayed to the wrong side; if she so wished she could have an extremity in every corner of the bed. She could pull the covers around her like a cocoon without anyone shrieking because in doing so she had exposed their naked body to the cool air that filled the bedroom. She could make all manner of noises in her sleep without anyone digging her in the ribs to tell her to shut up. These were things that if she had been asked a fortnight ago she would have said irritated her but now she found that she didn't want to lie cocooned diagonally across the bed and snore. All she wished to do was lie as she had on numerous nights on half the bed with half the cover and his reassuring presence behind her. The bed felt strangely empty without him although before him she had been more than used to being alone there. This was her existence now; an empty flat, an empty bed, an empty heart and an empty life. This thought finally delivered her the release that she had been craving for days and she felt tears snaking down her face, salty rivers that flowed from her eyes down until they pooled on the duvet that sat just beneath her neck. She was finally beginning to realise that he wasn't coming back to her and only now did she feel able to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

3.30 am. As she took in the blurred numbers spelled out in harsh green lights on the face of the clock she let out a small groan. Despite the fact that she was more exhausted than she had ever been she couldn't sleep. Every time she shut her eyes she saw his face but not how she would like to remember it. Instead she saw only the flash of fear and pain in his eyes that appeared when he realised what had happened. His expression haunted her more than the memory of the blood seeping from the wound faster than she could stem the flow and more than his cry of agony when she had pressed her hands hard against the wound in his abdomen in a desperate attempt to save him. Every detail of that day – from the admission of the man who had killed him to the moment when she realised she couldn't save him and instead put her arms around him and held his lifeless body to her – was etched on her mind. Even so, it was the expression on his face that chilled her to the bone as she fell back into a restless sleep full of nightmares.

_She was talking to Tricia, giving the older woman orders, treating her as though she was a lower life form. She was so involved in the conversation that she was having that she barely noticed the commotion taking place on Keller ward until she heard Lisa's voice rise with panic. Turning in surprise she saw a sight that made her blood run cold. A patient – her patient – was on his feet and shouting for what sounded like morphine. In his hand a blade glinted sinisterly and with a sinking heart she realised that he had taken a scalpel and was using it to threaten someone. Someone who was too damn stubborn to allow themselves to be threatened. Tricia immediately forgotten she made her way briskly across the ward, her own strident tones joining in the uproar but her voice didn't sound quite like her own. On seeing who was being threatened it took on a different edge. It was tinged with fear but sounded strangely calm as she instructed the patient to put down his weapon so they could talk properly. When this didn't work she attempted to reason with him and prayed that security had been called as she watched him become more agitated. When security didn't come a horrible realisation dawned – there was not a single person present who was willing to risk further antagonising this man by reaching for the phone and alerting the relevant emergency service. Instead they all stood in rapt horror waiting for Connie to rectify the situation but she didn't know how. Out of desperation she looked to Ric, silently pleading with him to stop being so stubborn and let the man at the drugs trolley – she would rather deal with a junkie with an OD than a colleague who had been stabbed, any day of the week. At this moment the junkie lost it and the latter became a harsh reality. He jerked forward and before she knew what was happening, had driven the metal implement that he had wielded into Ric's side. She watched as he stumbled like a wounded animal and fell to the ground as his killer pulled the knife from him and held it aloft, as if it was some kind of trophy. Her legs started working long before her brain did and she found herself propelled towards him, her own wrist coming into collision with the desperate young man but the sharp pain that shot up her left arm barely registered. Within seconds she was trying to stem the bleeding but it was useless – from the blood that spurted forth from the wound in time with his rapidly depleting heart beat she could tell that the scalpel had struck lucky and hit an artery. Still she battled to help him, packing the deceptively small wound with every swab, pack and dressing that she could lay her hands on in a futile attempt to save him. As she worked helplessly she saw the last of the colour drain from his face and she realised that he really had gone. At that moment the world fell away and she took him in her arms and held him one last time, feeling him slip away from her as his body became a dead weight in her arms. It was only when Chrissie gently took him from her that she realised that the blood that covered her was not all Ric's – there was a large wound running down her forearm that she had clearly sustained in her own brief tussle with the man who was now being forcibly restrained by Mark. Looking at the blood coming from her own body and the lifeless body that lay beyond it the world started to spin. _

6.30 am. The nightmare woke her with a start and she realised that she was trembling having just relieved the whole terrible day in it's entirety. As her breathing returned to normal she rolled onto her back and looked at the window, surprised, as she was every morning, that the sun continued to rise. Since his death every morning that she woke and saw the sun felt like a supreme achievement. It meant that no matter how dead she might feel inside, she had lasted another night without him. Another night without ripping open the stitches that ran the length of her left arm and allowing herself to bleed to death. She knew that the last thing that he would have wanted was for her to stop living just because he had been forced to. If he was here he'd be demanding that she went out and found herself a nice man to take her mind off her loss but it wasn't something that she could contemplate. After Ric no other man would stand a chance. After Ric she found it difficult to hold down a conversation – particularly with one of her staff – without wishing that it had been someone else that had been killed. It would still have been terrible, still a tragedy and still her fault but at least she would have had Ric to get her through it. With him beside her she could get through anything. Alone she felt as though she was constantly stumbling in the dark, making error after error has she battled to keep on moving. She hadn't always been so dependant – she could remember a time when she had relied on no one. During her marriage to Michael – back when it was a proper marriage and not just a sham that got wheeled out at the occasional charity ball where he wanted an respectable woman on his arm – had he died she would have coped. She would have been upset, possibly even devastated, but it wouldn't have destroyed her as this had. Perhaps it was the pressure of knowing that she had her own part in his death or perhaps she had loved Ric in a way that she had never loved Michael but she could see no way back to the light from the dark hell of her own mind. She felt as though she was drowning in grief and she didn't know how to save herself from going under. All she knew was that she had never felt more alone than she did lying here in the bed which they had shared without him beside her. For years she had slept in this bed alone but now it felt like her own personal prison. She wouldn't sleep – she was too worked up – so instead she got up and prepared to start another interminably long day.

7 am. A blue convertible pulled into the car park, glistening in the half-light of the sunrise but no one paid a lot of attention to it. For the gathered masses it was just another day at the grindstone but for the woman stepping from the car it was something quite different. She hadn't been back since the day the man she loved had died in her arms on one of these wards and now the idea of returning to the place where she had lost everything she had – everything that was worth having – filled her with dread. She was early for the meeting but she didn't mind. Lying alone in that large, empty bed was slowly sending her crazy and somehow being at the hospital seemed like an improvement. The moment that Diane Lloyd emerged from her car she knew that she was wrong. There was something worse than lying alone in the bed that they had shared. Seeing in the eyes of someone who had once held respect for you a look of contempt, disgust and disappointment. Despite the hurt that raged within her at the young doctors expression she couldn't tear her eyes from the other woman's face as the world moved listlessly around her. It was only when Diane averted her eyes and pointedly walked past her without a word that she realised that she was being stared at. News travelled fast in Holby – she'd forgotten just how fast – and now half of the staff had congregated to witness their fallen leader's return. Suddenly she felt a great deal of sympathy for the fish that lived a thankless existence in Michael's aquarium – her every move was being watched with an unsettling level of interest and she didn't know what to do. She couldn't go to her office – it had been taken over by all manner of people wishing to investigate the crime which had taken place on a seemingly normal Tuesday morning at the hospital. She couldn't go anywhere else in the hospital without an audience. She was stuck until she felt a firm hand grip her shoulder and she turned, knowing who was behind her. She would know the touch of his hand on her skin anywhere despite the fact that it had been months or even years since she had felt it.

'We'll go to my office' he said firmly, seemingly unfazed by her dishevelled and exhausted appearance that was a million miles away from the woman he had married. With a dismissive flick of his wrist the crowds dispersed and he walked away, taking great strides towards the lift leaving her trailing in his wake. For a moment she wondered whether today he would chose to save her career or break her career. In the next moment she realised that she no longer really cared.


	4. Chapter 4

'What time is your appointment?' Michael enquired in a dull monotone once they were closeted in his office. He knew that today would be difficult for her – in the morning she was likely to be told that she wouldn't operate again and in the afternoon the hospital trust, not her favourite collection of people at the best of times, were meeting to discuss whether she would be allowed to continue as Medical Director following Ric's death. Michael himself would be at the helm of this particular meeting of minds and he knew that this did nothing to allay her fears – she often told him that he was a complete liability when handed a little power as he was in the board meetings and he knew that at least in part she was right. He maintained that he had to choose his battles carefully but the truth was that he believed that a little failure was character building. He always had believed this and he insisted that it was largely why he had trained one of the greatest surgeons in the country, despite the fact that his own skills were decidedly average.

'Eleven' she stated dully, tracing her right index finger up the dressing that lay on her injured arm tensely 'I think we both know that the news won't be good' she added, still refusing to look at him. Every time she looked into his eyes she felt nothing but anger – how dare he still be alive when Ric wasn't? The one good thing in her life had been taken from her and she was left with a perpetual thorn in her side. Up until recently she had not had any particularly strong feelings one way or the other for Michael – since their marriage ended in all but a technical sense several years before she was simply indifferent to him. That was no longer the case – now his continued existence filled her with rage. She hated him – he represented everything she lost and everything she still had. She hated him all the more for he persisted in a strange, utterly misguided belief that now Ric was 'off the scene' and he was currently between secretaries they could pick up where they left off. She wasn't sure whether to be insulted or furious.

'Have you been sleeping?' he asked, his voice remaining neutral as he looked into her exhausted eyes and found the answer for himself. He had known for some time that there was something between his wife and Ric – ironically he was the first and not the last to hear of her affairs. Despite this he was surprised that his death had affected her so deeply – far from being just a bit on the side she was acting as though she had lost the love of her life. He was unsure how much of it was down to guilt but it concerned him that she was so distraught. At the moment she seemed in a worse state then he would have expected had he been the person to get stabbed but he found that incomprehensible. They may have had their difficulties and their differences but they loved each other and no one else could compare. Even when he knew that she was spending five nights a week playing house with another man his belief in his wife's devotion didn't waver. It was unconventional but he still believed that he held the key to her heart. Now he was having to entertain the possibility that he was wrong.

'In the meeting this afternoon' she paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Attempting to articulate her question in such a way that he wouldn't immediately go on the defensive. This was something that she used to do without thinking but now it seemed like a monumental effort. Now life in general seemed like a monumental effort 'Will you be supporting me?'

'Yes' he answered without hesitation. He chose his battles but if he didn't fight this one the rest would become irrelevant. He saw that today, more than ever, his wife needed him. He saw today as his chance to win her back 'I promise I'll do what's best for you' he added and she gave a small, tension filled gasp. Michael's idea of 'what was best' was not always akin to what she believed was best. Every time that he betrayed her in this manner he insisted that she would come round to his way of thinking but it hadn't happened yet. So the fact that he promised to do what was best did not answer her question about his support in her battle to save her career.

'You do understand that I want to continue as Medical Director' she told him firmly 'so no taking liberties with what you believe to be in my best interests. My job is what is best for me'

'Of course' he nodded 'as I say…' he trailed off as she shot him a warning look that told him in no uncertain terms that to continue would be to seriously endanger his health.

'Don't say it Michael, just get me my job back' she instructed and for a moment he saw a flash of his old wife. Then just as quickly she was gone and her shoulders once again became hunched with more tension than either of them were equipped to handle.

'Do you want me to come with you to see Mr Fashola?' he asked and she looked at him as though he was insane. As though it was utterly crazy for him to want to support her during what was likely to be one of the more unpleasant hours of her life.

'No' she spat 'I have to do this alone. Just behave in the board meeting, that's all I ask'

'Fine' he sighed 'fine. Look, I have to go and talk to Zubin, I need to know where he's coming from on this – Griffin was his best friend. You can wait here until your appointment'

'No' she stood up 'I'll be fine. I'll see you later' and with that she was gone and he was in no doubt that she was about as far from fine as it was possible to be.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time she arrived in the boardroom for the meeting five hours later Carlos had confirmed her worst fears. The scalpel had severed her cutaneous nerve and she would never regain full movement of her hand. As she said herself in one of her particularly low spells, no one wants a one armed surgeon. The damage that had been inflicted had ensured her surgical career was over – now all she had to look forward to was working as a physician and she knew that it wouldn't give her the same buzz. Surgery was a part of who she was and without it her life was unthinkable. Now as she slumped into the chair behind her shiny black nameplate she had to contemplate that in the next half an hour there was every chance that the last vestige of her old life would be ripped from her by the other eight people in the room.

'Ladies and Gentlemen' Michael stood and addressed the meeting as the last board member – Zubin being characteristically late – took his place 'I'm sure you all know that we are here to discuss the tragic events of two weeks ago' he surmised as she sipped her cup of water and eyed the other board members nervously, trying to second guess the way each of them would vote. Zubin, Peter and Alexander would certainly go against her, Jeremy, Joanna and Jan would probably be in her favour. The casting vote lay with Michael and this state of affairs left her uneasy.

'It seems to me that a catalogue of errors were made that resulted in Mr Griffin's death' Zubin pronounced, shooting Connie a look so full of loathing that she knew he blamed her. He was the one person who she didn't care about – Zubin blamed her for everything from the sour milk in the fridge in the staff room to global warming so the fact that he blamed her for Ric's death was no great surprise. Also, the way in which Zubin had rebuffed Ric's friendship on so many occasions and treated Jess had done nothing to endear him to her. On balance she preferred to be hated by people like Zubin.

'Yes, several people made grievous errors that day' Michael conceded 'from his admission in the Emergency Department mistakes were made. We are at this moment setting new protocols in place to ensure that this does not happen again'

'I believe the greatest mistake occurred on Darwin' Zubin continued 'where a highly trained cardiothorasic surgeon missed the signs of heroin withdrawal and instead diagnosed him with a heart condition. Apart from anything else, such a misdiagnoses could have had catastrophic consequences for the patient'

'Several people misdiagnosed Mr Lister's illness' Michael reiterated but Zubin appeared to have the bit between his teeth and Connie sank lower in her chair, a horrible sense of impending doom coming over her. She wasn't going to come out of this with her reputation in tact – she'd be lucky to avoid getting struck off unless Zubin's tongue seriously malfunctioned in the near future.

'Mrs Beauchamp then failed to handle the developing situation with Mr Lister until it had reached a critical state. If she had been doing either of her jobs properly, this tragedy could have been avoided'

'Now that's unfair' Michael drawled, clearly going through the motions for her benefit. He knew as well as she did that he was flogging a dead horse 'The blame for this tragedy cannot be laid at Mrs Beauchamp's door, in fact she too sustained serious injury in the incident…' he attempted lamely and she groaned silently. He couldn't even be bothered to think up a decent defence for her – he just looked bored.

'This is another salient point' Zubin leapt on it and her heart dropped even further. She had an unpleasant suspicion that he had obtained her prognosis and knew as well as she did that she wouldn't operate again. It was highly irregular for the Medical Director of the hospital not to be a practicing surgeon. She didn't think she was likely to be first of this kind.

'What?' Michael sighed, sitting back in his chair and weaving his fingers together, his brow knitted with a poor impression of concentration.

'Mrs Beauchamp is, I believe, no longer able to practice as a surgeon' a malicious smile played across Zubin's lips as he continued to kick her while she was well and truly down 'it is assumed that the hospital Medical Director is a practicing surgeon. As such it would be… inappropriate, for her to continue in her current position'

'You make a fair point' Michael sighed and Connie felt her eyes bulge with rage – he had given up and was apparently going to sell her down the river. If it hadn't been for her distinguished audience and the small amount of self respect that she still possessed she would have throttled him then and there 'might I speak to Mrs Beauchamp outside for a moment' he added, flicking his eyes nervously as her face set in a stony mask and she stood up, knowing now that she no longer had the support of her husband or anyone else in the meeting.

'No need' her voice came out in a hoarse whisper as she pushed back her chair 'you'll have my resignation by close of play. Thank you for your time Ladies and Gentlemen'

'Thank you Mrs Beauchamp' Michael stated, unable to keep the element of surprise out of his voice 'you will of course receive a generous pay out'

'Whatever' she retorted as she stormed from the boardroom and walked for the last time to her office.


	6. Chapter 6

Once in her office she sat at the desk and thought for a long time. During the board meeting she had come to a major decision. A life changing, life ending decision. Over the space of two weeks she had lost every constant in her life – her lover, her husband, her job and her career. She had watched it all fall away and had been powerless to prevent it. Connie didn't do well with being out of control but no matter what she did, events were being taken out of her hands. It had reached a point where she could see one way and one way only of regaining some control over her fate. She had little left here now – an empty flat full of memories, a job which would never satisfy her and probably divorce proceedings to look forward to. That wasn't what she wanted in her future – the very thought filled her with dread. If that was her future, she had decided whilst tuned out of one of Zubin's well rehearsed diatribes, then she didn't want to have a future. It was this realisation that had led her to pause, only for a moment, on her walk to her office and extract from the drugs cabinet two small vials of morphine and a hypodermic syringe.

Late in the evening, alone in her office, she fingered the vials of morphine that she had taken from the drug trolley wondering how something that looked so innocuous could be so destructive. It looked a lot like water and yet it could kill people and people would kill to obtain some. It saved some people from excruciating pain but caused such pain to be inflicted on others. Slowly she took the hypodermic syringe and drew a large measure into it before pressing the needle to her arm, barely wincing as it penetrated her skin and plunged deep into her vein. She didn't even flinch as she pushed down the plunger and flooded her body with a lethal dose. This drug had taken everything from her and now it was going to take her as well.

For several moments nothing happened but slowly she became aware of her body reacting to the toxin within it. Her hands became clammy, her heart was pounding and her head felt completely empty, as if every worry she had ever had was just floating away. For a moment she could see how people like Tom Lister became addicted to this drug. These thoughts were interrupted by a rhythmic banging and the door flying open as Michael ploughed into the office, his apologies already in full flow. For a while she sat and watched him grovel, feeling strangely removed from what was happening inside the room. She listened to him talk about how he had finished her career because he thought it would be for the best. Because without surgery she would find it difficult to be an effective Medical Director. Because if she was less focussed on her career then their relationship might stand a chance. He even said that he wanted them to have children, a suggestion that caused her to emit a bitter laugh. When they started out children had been what she wanted but he'd convinced her that she didn't. Now apparently her long forgotten desire for a child was not only understandable but to be encouraged. Because he suddenly felt ready for children she had to tow the line. Not this time. She heard every word of his well rehearsed speech but none of them made any impact upon her. Eventually he stopped and looked at her strangely as if he had only just noticed that something was awry. All at once his movements became frantic and he came towards her, catching her as she lost the battle to remain upright and crumpled towards him.

'God, what have you taken?' she heard him say but found herself incapable of answering. As his eyes alighted on the two small vials on her desk and widened slightly she realised that she didn't have to 'Oh Connie, tell me you haven't' he groaned, an element of panic in his voice. He was in no doubt that she had and she shut her eyes, unable to bear to see the pain in his eyes. No matter how dreadful a husband he had been and no matter how many times he professionally slaughtered her she had never wanted to hurt him like this. As she drifted away from consciousness she heard yelling as he cried out for help, praying that it wasn't too late to save her. She became aware of several nurses crowding around her and working to save her but she didn't want them to. She wanted them to let her go and Michael seemed to sense this because moments before Zubin ventilated her he shouted at them to stop. Shouted that it wasn't what she would have wanted. She had never realised that he knew her so well. For a while she drifted, aware of people moving out of the room eventually leaving her alone with only Michael and a couple of other people. In the distance she heard someone say her name and prised her eyes open. It sounded so much like Ric that for a moment she believed that he was still alive but as she looked around blearily at the out of focus figures she saw only Michael, sobbing quietly as he held her uninjured hand in his and felt another surge of guilt. It was guilt but not regret that she felt as the world finally went black and it was over.


End file.
